Tekst:
Jets To Brazil Perfecting Loneliness

cross. The stakes are high. We're standing by. There used to be a hundred ways to put my arms around you. Every one seemed new, natural, and true. Perfecting loneliness

Hello, old friend. It's been a while. How you been? All things must end, but did you know what that meant? The birds fly south. The summer sets. The

The road tonight is cold with ice and no cars pass by. Thank god for no phone call. Just snow and a fire. December endings and since you sent me things

never cross. The stakes are high, we're standing by. There used to be a hundred ways to put my arms around you; Everyone one seemed new, natural and true, perfecting

Headlights and red eyes, a warm beer between your thighs. Mess of pills, Hollywood hills, the red lights. Read me my rights. Going in a circle, getting

The terror of the view, the emptiness of this room, always writing against this truth, in the way that a painter must have a surface to hit. The paint

Caught making conversation to your teeth. Kite high in Tuesday ether. Been gone all week. People live for such a long time. Eighty years to get one right